


The Father's Day Present

by jcatgrl



Series: Blood Moon 'Verse [2]
Category: Blood Moon - Fandom, Original Work
Genre: Fantasy, Father Figures, Father's Day, Gen, Urban Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-08-20 03:11:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8234062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jcatgrl/pseuds/jcatgrl
Summary: Kalli has an unexpected gift for Zachariah.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Jules [Woofgender](http://woofgender.tumblr.com) for betaing this fic for me! And as always, if you want to know more about Blood Moon, you can check out [the tag](http://adhdkirabraginsky.tumblr.com/tagged/blood-moon) on my blog, or shoot me an ask at my [main](http://adhdkirabraginsky.tumblr.com/ask) or my [writing blog](http://queerlyworded.tumblr.com/ask).

Zachariah takes two steps into the library, looks up from his papers, and frowns. There is a couch facing the door that hadn’t been there before, and on it sit his three charges, grinning widely. He sighs, sets his papers on a side table by the door, and crosses his arms.

“What have you done this time, Miss Demetriou.” He doesn't bother making it a question. There is almost always something she’s done, or is about to do, or persuaded someone else to do.

Kalli Demetriou, sitting in the middle, clutches her hands over her heart in mock outrage.

“I haven’t done anything at all, Professor Hendricksen, and quite frankly, I’m hurt!” 

Miguel, on her right, snorts. She glares at him.

“And now I’m hurt by you, too!” 

“When are you not?”

“Are you trying to _imply_ that—”

“Kalli.” Sierra, sitting on her left, nudges her. “Isn’t there something we’re trying to do here?”

“Oh, yes!” She claps her hands and bounces in place, beaming at her girlfriend and then at Zachariah again. “Now, you know what today is, right, Professor?” 

He does, but he has no idea what the date has to do with it. It isn’t anyone’s birthday. It isn’t Christmas, Rosh Hashanah, Yom Kippur, Easter, Purim, or Pesach. It isn’t the anniversary of Sierra joining their team (Kalli has been making noises about celebrating that, but it isn’t until August). 

Kalli is still looking at him expectantly.

“The eighteenth of June.” He thinks a moment. “A Sunday.”

Almost certainly not the answer that she’s looking for, but he knows she hasn’t the patience to make him keep guessing.

“Noooo!” she nearly wails. “Well, yes, but no! Sierra, can you...”

Sierra is already reaching under the couch to grab a box. She hands it to Kalli. The box is circular, about a foot wide and six inches tall, and patterned with buttercups on a dusty blue background. 

“Now clearly, you don’t care about holidays or keeping up with the times,”—not true, on either count, but he won’t interrupt her when she’s winding up to something—“but I do. Today is indeed June eighteenth, a Sunday; in fact, the third Sunday of the month which makes this… Father’s Day!” she proclaims triumphantly.

Oh. He supposes it is. There have been advertisements on the radio and in stores for weeks now.

“Before you say anything, I know, I know,” Kalli says. “I already have a father, and he isn’t you. And I wish him all the best in his life, so long as it’s separate from mine. To paraphrase a bit, may God bless and keep my father, far away from me. So instead, I want to give this to you, because for the past forty years, you’ve housed me and fed me and clothed me and taught me, and even though you won’t admit it, you love me, and I love you, too. So I’m giving you this. Happy Father’s Day.”

She holds the box out to him. A hatbox, he recognizes now, and takes it numbly. He stares at it, shock warring with pride. He’s trained a lot of apprentices over the years, seen them grow into adults, full of confidence and skill. Nearly all of them have been human, though, or close to it. None of them have needed to be taught and guided so long as the dryad girl sitting before him. To a vampire, a human life is wretchedly short. He closed himself off from his pupils out of necessity. He was never cruel or unkind, but Kalli had coaxed out of him warmth and humor that he had almost been afraid to share at the beginning of their relationship as master and apprentice.

Zachariah blinks out of his reverie and looks up at Kalli.

“Kalligeneia. I would be honored to accept any gift that you choose to give me.”

She grins at him, as brilliant as the sun whose warmth she absorbs every day.

“Well, come on then, open it! I helped her pick it out, you know,” Miguel interjects, “even though I haven’t been apprenticed to you nearly as long.”

“Yeah, let’s see it!” Sierra adds. 

There are no ribbons or wrapping around the box, so he only needs to lift the lid. Inside, resting on forest green tissue paper, is a hat. A baseball cap, navy blue netting in the back, a solid white front, and a red bill. Across the front, in red lettering and an obnoxious font, it says, “Foxy Grandpa”. 

Kalli, through and through. Sincere sentiments and absurd gestures all in one. He lifts it out of the box with care, and places it on his head. Kalli bursts into tears, still smiling.


End file.
